First Down: A Fake Dating College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play)

WHEN I GET BACK to the inn, there’s a bottle of champagne on ice sitting on the table, plus two crystal flutes and a box of chocolates. There’s also a present wrapped in silver paper sitting in the middle of the fluffy white bedspread.

My heart skips a beat. He’s so sweet.

But I can’t get the conversation with Darryl out of my mind.

I shrug out of my jacket and peel off my jeans, sitting in his jersey on the edge of the bed. I pull out my phone to see that he texted that he’s on the way. I reply, then search the web for Sara Wittman.

Maybe Darryl is lying to me. He’s obviously jealous; he can’t let me go. He’d say anything to make James seem shitty in my eyes.

There isn’t much I can find. A private Instagram. A page from LSU featuring a picture of Athletic Director Peter Wittman and his family—a wife and a daughter, Sara.

So, she’s a real person. That I didn’t doubt. The question is, if James dated her, what happened? Did she try to hurt herself? Even if that’s true, how was James involved?

I didn’t search his name again after the first time, before our dinner at Vesuvio’s. He didn’t seem to like it, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. That was back before I thought I had any real claim to him, anyway.

Wouldn’t he tell me if something that horrible had happened?

I thought he left LSU because he couldn’t win a championship with that program. He’d made it sound cut and dry. But Darryl talked about it like he left in disgrace. Threatened with getting kicked off the team? My heart twinges with sympathy. That would be devastating for him.

I’m typing his name into my phone when the door opens.

I exit out of the window and set my phone aside. He comes into the room with all the energy you’d expect after that kind of close win; he sweeps me up into a hug and kiss immediately.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t think of anything the second the game ended except coming back here to you.”

I force myself to smile. Even though I’m dying for some real answers, I can’t do that to him now. Not after a win to keep their perfect season intact. Not while he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the world and holding me like he wishes we could meld into one.

“It was an amazing game,” I say, instead of any of the questions echoing in my mind. “I was worried you wouldn’t pull it out.”

“Sanders saved it for us.” He rubs his hand down my back. “Did you talk to his mom?”

“She’s really sweet.”

“Definitely.”

“Did you order dinner yet?”

Shit. I’d forgotten about that. “Nope. I just got back a couple minutes ago.”

“No problem.” He walks over to the champagne and pops the cork, then pours us each a glass. “Want to do that, or should I? I’m starving.”

“Um, no, I’ve got it.” I force another smile as I accept the glass of champagne. “What’s the occasion?”

He joins me on the bed. “First time we’ve gone away together. I thought we’d like to make a nice memory, instead of it being, you know, that time we went to the Holiday Inn and my teammates tried to drag us to a party.”

I smile for real this time. “You’re sweet. Do you still want that pork dish?”

“Sounds great.”

I call the restaurant and order, which is way harder than it needs to be because he keeps touching me, kissing my neck and dragging up the hem of the jersey to palm at my ass. I glare at him over my shoulder, but he just ducks in for a kiss.

When I hang up, he brushes my hair back. “Are you wondering about the present?”

“It’s big.”

“Not the only big thing you’ll be getting tonight.”

“James!” I stage-whisper, widening my eyes like I’m scandalized.

He just grins as he grabs the present and passes it over to me. “Want to open it now?”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to give me the other big thing first,” I say dryly.

“This is worth the wait.”

I give him a look as I tear at the wrapping paper. There are actually two things wrapped together. I see the photo album first, and then the box registers.

A camera.

“James,” I whisper.

He leans in a bit, an anxious look on his face. “Is it okay? I did some research into it, but if it’s not the right kind, I’ll return it and get you exactly what you need.”

I take it out of the box slowly, marveling at the clean lines and the pristine lens. A Nikon Z9 with all the bells and whistles. Cameras like these cost several thousand dollars, easy, and now I’m holding one in my hands. I set it aside gently, then launch myself into his arms.

He catches me with ease. “Hey, princess. Did I do good?”

“It’s perfect.” I kiss him deeply, squeezing my arms around his neck. His hands settle underneath my thighs, holding me close. “You didn’t have to, though, it’s not cheap and I can always—”

“No.” He cuts me off firmly. “This is a gift. Make new art with it, honey, okay?”

Instead of responding with thank you like a normal person, I let out a sniffle. I can’t even find a way to respond because my throat feels like it’s blocked up. I bury my face in the crook of his shoulder instead, breathing in his cologne and relishing in the sturdy way he’s holding me. It doesn’t replace what the fire destroyed, but it gives me the ability to get started again.

“Thank you,” I finally whisper. I kiss him again, moving my hands to his face, framing his jaw. He looks right at me with those eyes I’ve come to love before kissing me back, settling me down on the bed.

I spread my legs so he can dip his body between them, his hands exploring underneath the jersey. He drags his lips down from my face to my neck and lower, then takes the jersey off entirely, leaving me with messy hair. He doesn’t seem to mind, though; he’s still looking at me in a way that triggers heat in my belly and lower. It’s like I’m a prize he just won. Like I’m something precious.

“God, Bex,” he says. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He splays his hand on my soft belly, pulling me into another kiss. I stroke my hand through his hair as I kiss him back. “You are too,” I say with total honesty.

And because he’s confident in his masculinity, he doesn’t make a face. He just breaks away to look at me, a tender expression on his face.

“This lingerie is so pretty,” he says as he traces over the lace on one of the blush pink bra cups. My breath hitches at the promise of contact where I want it. “Did you get this just for me?”

I nod, digging my teeth into my lower lip. He pulls off his sweater and jeans and makes short work of my bra, nuzzling at my breasts, rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and sucking on the other until I’m arching my back. I can feel myself getting wet, my clit tingling and begging for attention. I try to wriggle my hand between us, but he catches it.

“Keep your hands over your head, pretty girl,” he says.

I whimper, toes curling, as I fist my hands in the sheets. He rewards me by sliding my panties down my legs. Still, he doesn’t pay me any attention there yet, continuing to just focus on my tits until I’m shamelessly begging him for more contact. When he finally drags his hand down, I spread my legs wider, eliciting a soft laugh from him. He finds my clit, stroking around it in a tantalizing circle, before dragging his fingers down and pressing two into me at once. I’m so wet that his fingers go in easily. He groans as I clench my pussy. He scissors his fingers as he continues to play with my clit, and with every movement, every breath, I come closer to reaching my peak. He lowers his head to my tits again, mouthing at them, and the added contact makes me cry out. “James—I’m gonna—”

“Come, princess,” he tells me roughly as he presses a third finger into me. “Come on my fingers and I’ll give you my dick.”

I sob as I do, pressing myself against him as tightly as I can, even though the sensitivity that comes with climaxing makes me want to curl up and catch my breath. He continues to finger me for a moment before withdrawing his fingers; I shudder, hating the feeling of emptiness.

He reaches for his wallet, taking out a condom and rolling it on quickly. “Tell me what you want, Bex.”

I blink wetly at him, trying to form words and utterly failing. He’s gorgeous, handsome as sin as he wraps his fist around his cock and pumps. Fuck, his muscles are incredible. I want to lick the grooves between each one of his perfect abs. I struggle to sit up so I can kiss him. He obliges me, gasping as I bite his lip. When I pull away, he has a dark look in his eyes, like he’s struggling not to throw me down and fuck into me.

Fuck, I want it. I want him to fill me up so completely I can’t help but come again, this time all over his cock.

“Bex,” he says, his voice still so low and rough it makes me shiver.

“I want you,” I say. “I want…”

“Keep going.”

“I want you to fuck me,” I say in a rush.

“Good girl,” he praises. He drags his thumb over my lips, dipping into my mouth in a tender gesture before pulling back. Before I can ask again, he flips me over, so I’m on my belly, and he spreads my legs like this, digging his hands into my ass as he pulls me up onto my knees and elbows. He presses the head of his cock against me, rubbing until I moan and buck my hips. He presses into me all at once, filling me so completely I can’t feel anything but him.

This position has my pussy clenching around him, my breasts swaying as he thrusts experimentally. He presses his mouth to the back of my neck, breathing against my hair as he fucks into me. He tangles one of his hands in mine, pressing it flat against the bed.

“I’m close already,” he whispers against my skin. “I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

“Come,” I whisper back. “Fill me up.”

He snaps his hips forward, coming inside me with a moan. I squeeze around him, helping him through it, loving the way his breath hitches and he tightens his grip on my hand. He rolls us onto our sides and rubs my clit until I come again with a weak cry.

We both catch our breath, panting, for a long moment. There’s a strange feeling inside my chest, a balloon of pressure that I can’t make go away. Maybe it’s because of how he looks at me as he comes back from discarding the condom with a washcloth in hand to clean me up. Or maybe it’s how he kisses me, his hand cradling my jaw. Or how he pulls his sweater over my head the moment I begin to shiver. The food is here, and I watch as he sets up everything, pouring us each more champagne.

I’m feeling something I don’t want to name, even in my mind, because it scares me too badly. Especially after what Darryl told me.

James Callahan has infiltrated my heart.